A HERO OF THE WATERWAYS

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIII, Issue 15, 13 October 1909, Page 48

A HERO OF THE WATERWAYS

■By

Gertrude Pahlow,

Author of “ The Wheel of Fortune,” Etc.

Illustrated by Gordon Ross

SENE VI EVE,” remarked the assistant professor of English literature, “we are in the deuce of a precarious situation.” Mrs. Thurston raised her wide blue eyes to her husband’s. “How is that?” she asked. The assistant professor enumerated on bis lingers. “The past is unsatisfactory; the present is insecure; the future is veiled in the darkest, deadliest mystery. I admit that I am depressed. My spirit feels as if it had been sitting up every night for a month playing poker anil holding busted flushes right along.” Mrs. Thurston looked very serious. “It’s about Aunt 'Sophia,” she said'. “Yes. You know, Genevieve, this is a crucial moment in our career. She says distinctly that she is going to make her will this summer; and' you know I am the only kin she has, and of course the finger of Providence points straight at me; but, on the other hand, there’s that confounded Seamen’s Eriend Society. It’s been running a close second for years, and now things begin to look as if it was gaining on me.” “Yet, she came all the way from America and invited us to spend the summer with her,” said Mrs. Thurston, “on purpose to see you before she made Up her mind.” “I know she did, and that’s what makes it worse,” said the man of learning gloomily. “She liked me a lot better before she saw me than she does now. I have tried all my weapon?' —m.y charm, Toy loveliness, my powers of song and story—and this week she seems to like tne even lesg than she did last.” “It may be only her manner,” suggested Mrs. Thurston hopefully. "I tried to think so at first, but I’ve about given it up. At the beginning she never called me anything worse than a gcod-for-nothing, or a silly ne'er-do-weel, and I told myself it was just her playful way; but yesterday, when she eaid I was a lazy lackadaisical fool, and a disgrace to the family, I couldn’t help feeling that we were a little out of sympathy.” “The horrid thing!” said Mrs Thurston indignantly. “I wouldnt touch her ole money if she gave it to us. I’m sure we don’t want it.” “That’s all very well, Genevieve,” said her spouse, “but you mustn’t look at it from a petty, personal point of view. He altruistic. Aunt Sophia has this money; it rests heavily on her mind, and she ought to shove it oft’. I am her next of kin, and the natural dumpingplace for all her troubles. Consider how selfish it would be to refuse to shoulder this care for her! lam a man, Genevieve, and she but a weak woman. Moreover. I can’t think of adding to the responsibilities of the Seaman’s Eriend Society. It is clearly my duty to take the money; the only difficulty is to make Aunt Sophia see it in that light.” At this moment the door knob turned with a loud, decided click, and the door swung back to admit a ladv of solid build and determined port. She advanced with firm, decided movements to a chair and turned a pair of very sharp Wack eyes upon the Thurston family. “Well, young people,” she said, opening her mouth with a snap, “what have you been doing with yourselves to-day?” Mrs. Thurston started and coloured. “I have been reading,” she said, “and Tom has been —been —Torn has written a Utter.”

“Nothing else?” said the lady sharply. “No exercise, no work, no achievement to show?” “Why, we haven’t had time, Aunt Sophia!” said Mrs. Thurston. “It’s only ten o’clock now.” “'When I was your age,” said Aunt Sophia, “by this time in the day I would have had my house in order, a week's mending done, and cake or pies in the oven. Your Uncle Joshua would, if at home, have chopped half a cord of wood, weeded the garden, and built a chicken-coop or a rod of fence. I have no patience with sluggards.” “I was working till after midnight last night,” remarked Thurston mildly, “and so I didn’t wake up until half past eight.” “Working!’” sniffed Aunt Sophia “What kind of work were you doing?” “Researching for my paper on ‘The Folk Lore ©f the Netherlands.’ I find plenty of material here in the Hague, but it takes a lot of study.” “And you call that work!” said Aunt Scphia. contemptuously. “I call it child’s play. It’s not fit employment for a man.” “I’ll get a hundred and fifty dollars for it when it’s done,” remarked Thurston. “I would rather you earned a dollar and a half by good, honest labour,” said Aunt Sophia firmly. “What do you call honest labour?” demanded Thurston, on the defensive. “Work that a man does with his hands or directs others to do,” expounded Aunt 'Sophia. “Your Uncle Joshua hadn’t a penny in the world when he set out to seek his fortune; and look what he had accomplished by the time he was your age! He had worked up from cabin-boy to master of an East Indiaman. he had gathered the beginnings of a fortune, and won the respect of all who knew him. Now, what are your little putterings about Dutch folklore beside that? Bosh! I have no respect for men like you.”

“Would you respect me more if I were to turn in and navigate a ship, or be a cabin-boy, or something like that?” inquired Thurston anxiously. “Of course I would. But you couldn’t,” said Aunt Sophia calmly. “You haven’t got it in you.” Thurston rose with a gleam of determination in his eye. “Watch me and see,” he said; and without further speech he strode from the room. The luncheon-hour had come and gone, and the afternoon was well begun, before any sign was received from the absent scholar. Mrs. Thurston sat peeping furtively and anxiously from the window, and Aunt Sophia remarked periodically to her darning-bag that unpunetuality was a vice she could not abide. Then, of a sudden, the door burst open with a bang; and the man of learning—breathless, dishevelled, and beaming—stood upon the threshold. “Aunt Sophia,” he said, “did you say you respected sailormen?” “I do,” replied the lady, “more than any class on earth.” “Fresh-water ones as well as salt?” "Certainly, if they work hard and honestly.” “Then respect your nevvy, Aunt Sophia. He is a sailor!” “What?” exclaimed Aunt Sophia. “Moreover, he is a cabin-boy,” pursued Thurston, “and a pilot, and a first and second mate, and a whole crew.” "What?” ejaculated Aunt Sophia. “And what’s more,” said Thurston impressively, “he is the captain of a ship. The whole illustrious career of Uncle Joshua epitomised in one thrilling throbbing, palpitating moment! Severn teen separate individuals crystallised into one radiant, glowing, scintillant personality. What do you think of that, eh, Aunt Sophia? Pretty good for a beginner, eh?” “Oh, Tom!” exclaimed Mrs Thurston anxiously. “What have you done now?” “I’ve chartered a canal-boat. I’m go-

ing to play Noah in a small way, an 4 rescue our reputations from the deluge. You and I are going on a cruise.” “Oh, my goodness!” gasped Mrs Thurston. “When are We going?” “Right this minute. We’ll go down to Delft for dinner, make Rotterdam tomorrow, and Dordrecht the next day;’ then we’ll corkscrew around the southern canals a little, go to Amsterdam, and turn home again. There’s only a beggarly five hundred miles of canal in the whole blessed country, but it’ll do for * preliminary flier.” “What’s the boat run by?” asked Mrs Thurston dubiously. Her husband expanded his chest. “By! the power of the human arm —my arm!” he said proudly. “No boisterous steampuffer, no odorous gasoline-popper; just a gentle, swanlike gliding over the still waters, propelled by the hand that has long supported you in luxury! You ought to be glad you lived to see this day, Genevieve.” Aunt Sophia, who had recovered from the first shock of her amazement, drew! her mouth down into an inverted crescent of incredulity. “You’ll never do it!”

“Just hold your hosses, Aunt Sophia, and you’ll see,” said Thurston. “Come on, Genevieve. ‘My boat is on the shore, and my bark is on the sea.’ ”

( “All the same,” added Aunt Sophia, “I don't say I don’t respect you more for attempting it. Don’t eatch cold;] and write me every three days how youi are getting on.” Thurston drew his wife outside the door with a jubilant face. “Hooray for, us!” he cried. “You mark my words, Genevieve—the right is bound to triumph!”

11. /There!” exclaimed the mariner proudly. “D'off your hat, Genevieve!] Yon is the good ship Schiinmelpenniek!” Mrs Thurston looked. Before them! lay a wide, flat, lumpish craft, with a sullen, snub nose and a broad, detcrler; and over all brooded a thick layer of ropes, boards, and boxes strewed the deck; a small yellow dog of dejected mien and doubtful pedigree sat by a tiller; and over 11 brooded a thick layer of damp dirt and a strong fragrance of tar. “Good gracious!” said Mrs. Thurston faintly. “Are we going on that thing?” “You’ve guessed it,” said her spouse pleasantly. “Not exactly an ocean greyhound, is she? More the canal dachshund build. But just wait till you see how she sails after Aunt Sophia’s money!” Mrs Thurston smothered a sigh of misgiving, and followed her husband on, board. A simple and unstudied stairways of soap-boxes led down to the vessel’s interior. Descending this, they found, themselves in a long, low room, roofed! with cobwebs and carpeted with dust. At the stern stood two wooden chairs; 1 amidships sulked a rusty cooking-stove, and at the bow three bunks were built! into the wall. Add to these items tha fact that the tarry atmosphere was here enriched by wandering whiffs of kerosene and stale tobacco-smoke, and you have the list of the Sehimmelpannick’s furnishings complete.

*"l'here! All the comforts of home, you see!” said Thurston cheerfully. “Salon here, kitchen and butler’s pantry amidships, and sleeping-apartments at the farther end. It seems gilding refined gold to add anything to such luxury, hut I’ve gone ’em one better and made a dressing-room.” He strode down the dirty floor, and pulled a canvas curtain. “See that!” he added proudly. “A sanctuary in which you and I and Wimpje can adorn ourselves, remote from the gaze of the gaping world!” “Who's Wimpje?” asked Mrs. Thurston quickly.

“He’s the dog. It’s Dutch for Bill,” explained the man of learning. “I took him with the boat—thought he’d add domesticity.” “He’s more likely to add fleas,” said the lady sharply. “The boat is bad enough, but I won’t stand that beast. You must put him off!” “Now, Genevieve!” pleaded her husband. “He is an orphan, without resources or home, and he is our little dumb brother. I know you haven’t the heart to turn him away. Go up on deck and make friends with him, and think how we ought to cherish the unfortunate. I want to be alone, for I’m going to prepare a surprise that will take your mind off your troubles.” Mrs. Thurston climbed the stairway slowly, and, seating herself upon an inverted box, looked around her with emphatic disapproval. As usual, a curtain of mist hung over the landscape. Already her pretty gown was beaded with moisture, and Wimpje, the little dumb brother, looked like a wet sponge. The two regarded each other with mutual distrust. Mrs. Thurston frowned at Wimpje; he, on his part, eocked up one ear in insolent defiance, and drooped the other in supercilious scorn. The Sehimmelpenniek, meanwhile, sat on the waters as placidly as a lump of mud on a shovel; but there was a look of sullen malevolence about her broad, snub nose.

•Suddenly, in the depths of the vessel’s hold, arose a terrifying clamor. Heavy clattering steps, as of an approaching troop of cavalry, thundered over the floor. There came a sharp collision of wooden surface, and a heavy thudding sound; then a burst of smothered exclamations. Mrs. Thurston started to her feet in alarm. The little dumb brother let loose a shrill, yapping volley of protest that caused the very echoes to jump nervously.

Nearer came the clatter, more frequent grew the collisions; and now the exclamations were heard at the foot of staircase. A moment more and through the companion came a round blue cap, followed by a loose dark blouse, an enormous pair of baggy trousers, and a stretch of stout woollen stocking. The whole seemed to move with incredible difficulty, the figure assisting itself to mount with its hands.; and in a moment the cause of this slow progress was revealed. The feet of the apparition were encased in gigantic wooden shoes, which struck each successive step with a loud

bang, and fell off, one after the other, when lifted into the air. Mrs Thurston opened her mouth to scream; but at the same instant the figure stood erect and turned to face her. “Aha, my hearties!” it said. “Blast me tarry toplights, but this is a fine day.” “Tom!’’ exclaimed Mrs Thurston, in a tone of blended amazement and relief. “Seheepskapitein Thurston, if you please,” said the mariner with dignity. “I had the deuce of a time getting up those stairs. These fairy shallops are awfully hard to steer!”

“Aren’t they enormous?” said Mrs Thurston, looking at his shoes with reverence. “They’re something the shape of this ship, aren’t they?” “That’s why I got ’em —because they’re shipshape,” remarked the captain, with a furtive grin. “Now, Genevieve, Whnpje and I are prepared for the worst, in neat and appropriate uniform. I have brought up the ship’s library—a naval code, a log-book and a ‘Traveller’s Guide’ in Dutch. Everything’s ready tut you, and you don’t want to spoil the ensemble, do you ? Then go down to the dressingroom. and you’ll find your togs—fourteen or fifteen skirts, a cap with gold bedsprings at the sides, and a cunning little pair of ferry boats like these,” The lady looked rebellions. “Have I got to wear them ?” she asked. “If you don’t,” said the captain, “you’ll have to be a passenger, and sit on deck all day and hold Wimpje in your lap. Take your choice!” Mrs Thurston rose hastily and went below. The captain, grinning, began to clear the deck for action; the cruise had begun. The method of propelling a boat by what is technically denominated the Armstrong motor is not an elaborate one. The motive power grasps a pole, embeds it in the canal’s bottom, and, walking from bow to stern, imparts a brief momentum

to the eraft. When the stern has caught up with the pole, the latter is withdrawn and implanted again at the boat’s head, and the motive power resumes his promenade. It looks a simple, even poetic, practice; but, like making love, it is easy only to the initiated. Seheepskapitein Thurston seized his pole with a jaunty air, thrust it in, and pushed. The Schimmelpenniek sat in silent majesty, unmoved. He took a long breath, and pushed harder; the colour mantled his check; but still the proud ship did not stir. He cast his cap upon the deck, and thrust anew, and pushed until the sweat beaded his forehead. The Schimmelpenniek seemed to turn up her broad nose a little more defiantly, but made no other sign. A group of Dutch youths who had gathered on the bank began to titter and to offer humorous expressions of sympathy. Wimpje, quivering with mortification, averted his head. The proud spirit of the mariner rose wrathfully. He swore a mighty oath, and seized his pole as if it were a battle-axe. His face grew purple with his endeavour; and 10. with a shiver and a groan of obvious reluctance, the Schimmelpenniek, like a maritime Aurora, freed herself from the embrace of the detaining mud, and moved! It was a glorious moment. A cheer went up from the bank; Wimpje yelped ecstatically, and a smile of pride stole over the features of the seheepskapitein. He thrust hard and pushed vigorously. Flushed with triumph, he sped toward the stern as if wafted by a swift zephyr of spring. Mrs Thurston, transforming herself into a round Dutch cheese in the dressingroom, was started by a tremendous commotion. With one of her gilt corkscrews in her hand, she ran to the gangway and looked out. Her lord was careering along the deck with terrific speed, his red hair wildly alert upon his bead, his face set in a grin of mingled ferocity and glee. Two bow-legged children on the bank were being rapidly overtaken; Wimpje, looking alarmed, was frisking hurriedly out of the way; and the bystanders, hardened though they were to maritime exploits, were dumb with awe. “Oh, Tom!” eried Mrs Thurston. “It isn’t safe to go so fast! Do stop!” “Now, Genevieve,” said her lord breathlessly, “are you captain of this ship, or am I? Don’t talk to the motorman!” He thumped on, flushed and panting. The stern was reached, the bow-legged children passed; he turned in triumph to give an exultant yell, when, presto! borne on the wings of his pride, transported above material things by the ecstasy of achievement, he rose into the air, balanced for a second on the tip of his- pole, and disappeared over the stern of the boat! Mrs Thurston shrieked; Wimpje gave vent to a shrill yell that told of overwrought nerves, and both together rushed to the stern. There was a moment of agonised suspense. Then the red poll and redder face of the man of learning rose, Aphrodite-like, from the waves, and his faithful crew seized him and drew him aboard. He received their demonstrations somewhat coldly; his ardour had been damped. “I’m not drowned,” Ire said, “so nevermind the blue lights and soft music. Go sit down, Genevieve, and you, too, Wimpje. Family ties can’t be considered in such a. moment as this.” He took up his pole again with a somewhat clouded brow, and resumed his labours. This time the start was wholly successful. The fine exhilaration of the

Armstrong motor was gone; tmt diacr* tion ruled in its place. The .Schimmel* pennick glided smoothly and equably over the waters. Mre. Thurston, seated in the .stern, relaxed her nervous tension. After all, it was a pleasant means of travel—restful, and very thorough. She looked at the streets of The Hague, unfolding to her view at the rate of twenty feet an hour or thereabouts, and felt that •he was in a position to see something of Dutch life. Opposite her, on the right bank, sat a child, tying a tin can to the tail of a pet dog—a pretty domestic picture. On the other side, a vendor of fruit, imbued with the Dutch passion for cleanliness, was polishing his wares with a cloth on which he expectorated from time to time. At the bow, a tomato, rosy ae the kindly housewife who had thrown it there, bobbed lazily against the boat. At the stern, beside her, Wimpje sought for fleas with the light-hearted mien of one who has no cares beyond the present. The time wore on, and the afternoon sun pierceu through the mist. It was very warm. Mrs. Thurston, who had been dozing slightly, thought longingly of wide green fields flecked with kine, of lazy windmills, and of rippling brooks. She looked around her. On the left bank the vendor of fruit still polished his wares; on the right, the child had finished with the first dog and -begun with another; the tomato now bobbed against the stern instead of the bow. Otherwise all was as before. “Tom!” called Mrs. Thurston. “Can’t we go a little faster?” Her husband straightened himself, and wiped his dripping brow. “Faster!” he said, indignantly. “Whit do you think I am — a forty-thousand-horse-power steam-engine, or a tripleexpansion turbine with ball bearings? Try it yourself for a while, and see bmr you like it!” “Oh, of course you’re doing splendidly,” said Mrs. Thurston, hastily. “But do you think—do you think we’ve gone very far ?” "f don’t know what you call far,” rejoined her lord, in an- injured tone. “H you compare it to a trip around the world, of course it isn’t far. But J’va yanked this crowbar out of the mud and jabbed it in again, and hauled tire old cattle-naneh along with it, five times since we started, and I should think that was going some!” Mrs. Thurston discreetly forbore further comment, and the Armstrong motor set to work again. Wimpje, wearying of the pleasures of the chase, slept placidly. The moments slipped by; the shores remained nearly stationary. Suddenly the voice of the seheepskapitein rent tha drowsy silence. “Genevieve!” it shouted. “Give me tha naval code!” Mrs. Thurston looked up, to see another canal-boat, propelled by another Armstrong motor, bearing down upon them. She fumbled distractedly among the ship’s library, unearthed the naval code, and ran with it to her commander, “Port your helium!” cried he. “Quick!” ' < “How do you do it?” asked the lady, breathlessly. “Hard alee! Port, port! Luff her!” yelled the captain. “I’d gladly do it if I only knew how-,” said Mrs. Thurston, loking around her piteously. “Where do you begin?” *- The other boat, meanwhile, was coming very close, its occupant shouting vigorously. Thurston dropped his pole, and dived into the naval code, mutteripp.

frantically: “Which tack are we on? Jow’m I going to signal if 1 haven't any yhtstlc? Thunder! Thunder!" There was a wild volley of advice, acgompanied by a frenzied waving of the •arms, from the other boat; and then, ,with a loud impact, the two struck sharply together. The little dumb brother took upon himself the task of signalling, and burst into such an uproarious yapping that even the remarks of the stranger, were drowned. Mrs. Thurston wrung her hands. • “Pass me the ‘Traveller’s Guide,’ quick!” said Captain Thurston. “This is a case for arbitration.” He turned the leaves rapidly, muttering over th? headings. “ ‘At the Tailor’s,’ ‘At the Railiway Station,’ ‘ln a Picture Gallery’—oh, Confound it, where’s the one about a collision? Here’s ‘On Meeting a Stranger’—that might help.” He cleared his ithroat, and read loudly, “How do you do, (honoured sir? It is a fine day!” At this hollow formality the stranger’s (Wrath boiled over, and he left his boat and stamped furiously on board th.Schimmelpennick. “You red-headed fool!” he roared, in fluent Dutch. “I’ll show you what kind of a day it is!” “..‘I am much interested in your charming country,’ ’’ read Thurston, hopefully, “‘and I would like to ask you ’” ■ “Ask me at the police station,” said the st ranger, grimly, clutching the s.'hccpBkapitein’s arm. “No, none of that!” said the captain,, relapsing into his native tongue. “I may be weak in navigation and in Dutch, Jout l’iu strong on defending my

tights. Talk politely or get back to your Own boat!” He thrust the visitor forcibly, from him, •nd put himself in the attitude of defence.. The stranger, with black looks •nd a volley of earnest Dutch sentiment, Hurried away, but not to his own boat, instead, he made a neat spring for the bank, and stroke rapidly up a neighbouring street, muttering still. “Now, Genevieve,” said the mariner ’quickly, “this looks to me like a good ■ltime to effect an alibi. Come on to dinner.” Mrs. Thurston glanced back over their (course. They had travelled a good three blocks since early afternoon, but the starting-point was plainly visib'e. “We’re still pretty far from Delft, aren’t wo?” she said. ‘‘Deft!” said the mariner. “If you (want dinner in Delft, you’ll have to tow a dead husband. We’re going to the Vieux Doelen as fast as we can make tracks.” Mrs. Thurston brightened. “Oh, all right!” she said. “I’ll run and change.” “No, you won’t,” said her lord decidedly, “It’s now or never.” He laid a plank to the shore and hurried her briskly off. To her protests he answered: “Wimpje will watch the boat; it’s what I hired him for. I don’t care how wo look; it would take worse clothes than these to spoil my appetite. I don’t care what they think; we are upborne by the proud consciousness of virtue. Come, beat it, Genevieve! This is no time for repartee!” However, it was but a few moments before they were hurrying back to the fScliimmelpenniek, faster than they had left it. They had I>een refused admission in restraurant after restaurant, because the custom of peasants wa.s not desired. Mrs. Thurston’s lip quivered, and her husband's eye Hashed. The pangs of

hunger were consumed in the flame of just resentment. “It’s enoug’nt to make a fellow turn socialist,” said the angry mariner, “Think of the nerve of that head-waiter at the Doelen! Wait till I come back in my store-clothes, with a bomb in my packet. I’ll boost him!” “Oh, my clothes!” sighed Mrs. Thurston—prettier than ever in her peasant

garb and rosy indignation—“ if I ever get into my own blessed clothes, I’ll never, never take them off again!” “Here he is!” exclaimed a voice in the gloom. “Arrest him, Officer! He is a lunatic and a villain!” A strong hand seized Thurston’s collar. “You come with me, my fine fellow,” said a voice. “To the police station, double-quick!” Mrs. Thurston cried out; but the valiant mariner was calm. “Never you mind, Genevieve,” he said loftily. “I’ll tea.eh them to abuse a citizen of a free country! Their coward hides shall smart for this. Go on board, and pull the plank in; I’ll only stay long enough to teach them a lesson!” Two hours later, a draggled figure, dripping from a summary passage of the canal, boarded the Schimmelpennick and descended the soap-box stairway. A dirty kerosene-lamp lighted the drawingroom, the kitchen, and the sleeping apartments. Cockroaches and black beetier frisked nimbly over the floor. Wimpje lay on his back, .snoring with an expression of imbecile content. The rest of tho crew sat on a box, stoney-eyed, her faco stamped with a melancholy too deep fol tears. “What happened?” she asked, without preface. "L lost,” said tho mariner b-iefly. “Had to pay fifty gulden or Jose the boat.” “I thought so,” said Mrs. Thurston calmly. “And while we were gone, somebody stole your and my blue foulard, and Wimpje tore up my hat.” Likewise tragically calm, her commander made no comment. He reached up the stairway for the log-book, and began to write. Ship Schimmelpennick; first day of cruise. Latitude 41144, longitude 2X Lost a man overboard. Motor broke

down. Grub gave out; all hands starving. Encountered hostile natives; got defeated. Boarded by pirates; heavy losses. He stared a moment thoughtfully at this entry, smeared away the water that trickled down his pencil-point, and addeu. Very damp. Life on ocean wave has drawbacks.

IV. It would take nerves of steel and a heart of galvanized iron to follow in detail the agonizing experiences of the next days. Have you the courage, reader, to hear how the sight of Aunt Sophia out walking kept the voyagers below decks H whole morning; how Wimpje assaulted

a respectable burgher, and was fined by the police; how the captain, after his third eo’lision, was made to pay tribute to the city for running a boat without a license; how the cockroaches made the Thurstons food their daily promenade, and the Thurstons’ persons the scene of their nightly revels? No; nor have I the heart to tell the harrowing taie. Let those two torn souls suffer in decent privacy, and let us pass humanely on. “ Tom,” said Mrs. Thurston, “ this is the day when you promised to write to Aunt Sophia.” “ Good Heavens!’’ said the mariner. “Is it only three days sinee we left? It seem like three thousand lifetimes, all extra long.” “ No, it’s only Friday. You must write; she’ll never forgive you if you don’t.” “ She’ll never forgive me if I do, so it’s all one,” said the captain gloomily. “ Whatever happens now, our hash is settled with Aunt Sophia. However, I’ll die facing the enemy. Let it never be said that a Thurston’s body was found on the battlefield with a back like a porous-plaster!” He pulled a moist pencil from his s°ggy poeket, and wrote: “Dear Aunt Sophia.—lt is with shame and sorrow that I write you from a place so near our starting-point. Misfortune has attended our path and delayed our progress. Indeed, I begin to perceive that a mariner’s life is a painful one at best. My sympathy and respect for Uncle Joshua increase momentarily, and I can see why you think my labours are child’s play beside his. I fear you will be much disappointed in me for having gone no farther; but I can only assure you that I have done my best, and remind you that angels can do no more. If you care to write, address us at Rotterdam, where we hope to be to-morrow night. — Your affectionate nephew, T. H. Thurston.” “How will you post it?” asked his wife. “ I will give it to this fellow’ who’s just catching up.with us, and ask him to post it in Rotterdam,” said he. “ For myself, I feel doubtful whether I shall ever live to see a letter-box again; man’s only allowed threescore years and ten. Here, you, sir! Please take letter—pub in mailbag—Rotterdam ” The man hailed came alongside and took the letter with a good-natured grin. His boat had one of the small auxiliary engines commonly seen on the Dutch canals, and travelled at a good speed for a craft of its proportions. He put themissive in his pocket, and chugged away southward; and the Thurstons, settling wearily down to the day’s toil, looked after him with envious eyes. Now, this man, if they had but. known it, was the Thurston’s good angel. Instead of serving their interests as they—■ in their blind human ignorance—desired, by posting the letter at Rotterdam, he served them far better by forgetting them altogether. Thus, when he arrived at his home in Amsterdam that night, and celebrated the circumstance by going Continued oa page 52..